The Long Days
by anne-writes
Summary: Hermione finds herself, over three years after the Final Battle, caring for a bedridden and extremely irate Severus Snape. Could something unexpected start to build between the temporarily immobile Snape and his grown, fiercely independent former student?
1. Chapter 1

Another long night, another sleepless day.

Had it occurred to her, Hermione Granger would have realised that she was far overqualified to be a glorified live-in nurse, tending to a bedridden patient day in and day out. But she had been requested (ordered, really) by Harry to do so. Because, he said, they all owed him more than could be said. And so it fell to her to drop her Mastery studies and move to a shabby house in the middle of nowhere to tend to one Severus Snape.

That's right. Severus Snape, former professor, Death Eater, and maddeningl double (triple? quadruple?) spy.

There had been many nurses, Harry had said. Some lasted almost a month, others, less than three days. He threw things at them, subjected them to long and furious lectures for spilling tea on a book, or making tea too weak, or any number of other grave misdeeds.

'Maybe he'll respect you,' Harry had pleaded. 'I would, but y'know, with Ginny and the new baby, it's just not feasible…'

Not mentioning the sticky fact that with his shiny new Head Auror badge, he had suddenly begun thinking his career far above a simple Mastery student's.

She had agreed, of course. What was there to do, really. Someone needed to; and obviously no one was about to but her.

So she'd said a fond farewell to her bumbling old Potions Master, who often forgot which ingredients were which, and the permanently scorched lab that had been the site of more explosions than the Ministry had technically been informed of.

She'd packed her bags, steeled herself, and gone to that awful house. Whatever she'd been thinking on the way here a week ago, she'd been impossibly naïve and couldn't imagine why she'd thought it might even be peaceful. She easily saw why so many of them had quit.

"_HERMIONE!_" his deep, rich voice bellowed from upstairs. She sighed, wiped the back of her hand across her sleepy eyes, and grabbed the book and tea he'd demanded she fetch him, before slowly climbing the rickety flight of stairs to his room.

Severus Snape, though bedridden, was still a force to be reckoned with. What he wanted, he got, and though the Healers from St. Mungo's had insisted his wand be kept from him, he could still do formidable wandless magic, and when he was in his tempers, she felt like storming out of the house and never returning. But if Hermione had ever had anything, she had a steel determination, and she stayed.

"Have you brought my tea?" the slumped Snape snapped. With a sigh, she handed him the cup and saucer, before setting the book none to gently upon his legs and sitting in the chair pulled up to his bedside.

"How is your neck?" she asked, too sweetly. _If the condition were terminal_, she thought, not for the first time, _perhaps I would be a bit more sympathetic._

But no, Severus Snape was destined to live a long and malicious life. He wasn't even going to be bedridden for long, just a few more weeks, then perhaps the deep wounds in his neck would have healed enough for him to get his vile self out of bed and fetch his own bloody tea.

"Pay attention, Miss Granger!" he snapped, setting his teacup down the nightstand roughly, sloshing the tea over the side and onto his book.

"Oh, lovely, now look what you've done," he snapped quietly, glaring at her from under his overly long and filthy crop of jet-black hair.

That did it.

"Listen, you awful piece of work. I am here because Harry _begged_ me to come care for you, since no one else can seem to tolerate you. I've indulged you for the better part of a week now, following your fancies and whims and fetching you this and that, letting you speak to me like I'm still a bloody first year serving detention. I am tired, I am filthy, and I have barely had a bite to eat between your incessant demands on my time. I am going to go to sleep now, for a very long time, and I absolutely refuse to tend to you in any way until I feel better, so don't drink that tea too quickly, it's likely the last you'll see until tomorrow," she whispered with deadly fury, before standing up and storming out of the room. As she slammed the door behind her, she heard a solid _thunk_ as a book hit the door, and a long string of curses escape his mouth.

She smiled, for the first time in those long days.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Hermione awoke from an indulgent thirteen-hour sleep, before which she'd eaten a large supper of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, and taken a long, hot bath with lots of soap. She felt like a different person, someone she'd been long before ever setting foot in Spinner's End.

In her new, much more optimistic frame of mind, she noticed that her room, while dusty, was nicely decorated in shades of lilac and deep plum. The furnishings and wallpaper looked very new, and there was a slight smell of fresh paint that hung in the air.

Pushing the oddness of her room aside, she climbed out of the large double bed and changed quickly into a loose jumper and faded blue jeans, leaving her clean hair curling down around her shoulders. And she set off to find breakfast.

As she sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Nibbit, a house-elf on permanent loan from Hogwarts, to concoct some delicious omelette of eggs and what smelled like mushrooms, a hazy feeling of guilt reached her.

"Nibbit?" she asked, hesitant to interrupt the clumsy elf's involvement with a hot griddle.

"Yes, miss?" he responded, but didn't turn to her, focusing all of his attention on his cooking.

"Have you checked on Master Snape recently?" she asked, knowing the question would put him all out of sorts. She was right. He whirled about, thankfully leaving the griddle upon the stove, but gesturing at her furiously with his wooden spoon, flinging eggs this way and that.

"I have told everyone! I will not take care of him! I clean and cook and do laundry but I will not wait on him hand and foot! I don't even belong to him!"

"Yes, yes, I know, I was just making sure that I was doing my job well enough," she said, attempting to placate him. He let out a loud snort at this, and turned back to his cooking.

"May I have two plates of breakfast?" she enquired timidly, almost anticipating another scolding, but without a comment he yanked out two plates, violently scooping eggs from the pan onto the plates, then tossing them onto a tray with two teacups and a pot of strong black tea. She quietly took the tray and quickly left the kitchen.

Opening the door to his room, she steeled herself for a shouting match, but hoped that the bringing of breakfast would appease his tantrum.

What she did not expect, however, was to find him fast asleep.

She hadn't seen him sleep in the entire time she'd been there, avoiding him as much as possible, only coming up when called. The sight was a startling one. Her ferocious Potions professor, who could still make her shake in her knickers (though she'd die before admitting it) slept on his side, so close to the edge of the huge bed she almost feared he'd fall off. His lank black hair fell across his face, obscuring his eyes from sight, but his lips, normally pressed thin in frustration, were full, parted in sleep. His wiry shoulders emerged from where his t-shirt had been rucked up his arm, an arm that was surprisingly large and muscular. Black hair covered his forearms, a fact she'd known but never truly noticed before. She had a strange urge to crawl into the bed with him, wrap her body around his, and lay her head against his back as he slept.

Shaking off the strange turn her thoughts had taken, she cleared her throat loudly, and he stirred. When he noticed he wasn't alone, he sat up abruptly, and she silently handed him his plate, not trusting her voice.

"I shouldn't have treated you so poorly," he mumbled before shovelling a large bite of eggs into his mouth, breaking the awkward silence.

Another awkward silence.

"That's okay," she mumbled, crossing her legs and quickly taking a bite as well. Their eyes met for a moment, his such a dark brown they were almost black, and hers such a light brown they were almost gold. She looked away from the thick gaze first, swallowing her eggs and looking out the window, before the filthy curtains distracted her gaze. Looking around, she noticed for the first time how vile the room had become in the last three years. The dresser lay thick with dust, the wooden floors were beyond dingy.

"Has no one cleaned this room since the start of your convalescence?" she asked, still glancing around the room.

"Undoubtedly it's been many years longer than that," he murmured, and when she turned back to him, his gaze was focused on the haphazard stitching of the quilt that covered his knobby knees, fingering it slightly with one hand.

"Well," she said, not entirely sure if he was listening to her. "I'll clean it today then, shall I?"

His looked at her, gaze alert once more, studying her carefully.

"That might be nice."


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, after collecting a pile of books and scientific papers for Snape to read and finding a pot large enough for the job she was undertaking, Hermione was on a chair by the window, pulling the heavy curtains down. She managed to unhook the curtains from the curtain rod, and let them fall to the floor with a loud thump. A disgusting cloud of grimy dust rose from the pile, and she coughed.

"Why not just Scourgify them?" a laconic Snape asked from amid his pile of books.

"I can't while they're hanging up," she mumbled, distracted by spreading the weighty things out over the floor. "It wouldn't properly get into the creases and such."

He let out a snort, as though the idea of needing to properly clean curtains was a ridiculous one.

"Trust me," she said, not looking back at him, but finishing spreading the curtains. "Once you're in a clean room, you'll begin to feel much better."

When he didn't respond, she glanced back at him over her shoulder, meeting his eyes. There was something unfathomable in that gaze, studying her perplexedly.

Flushing slightly, though she didn't know why, she turned back to her cleaning.


	4. Chapter 4

The cleaning had taken her the whole day, and it was late by the time she finished scrubbing the last floorboard. The curtains were clean but, not having the energy to hang them back up nor enough knowledge of how they attached to use magic, she folded them and left them in a (clean) pile in a (clean) corner. She'd meant to change the bed linens, sure that they'd seen nothing but a cleaning charm for the past three years, but now Severus had drifted off into that strange stage of almost-sleep, and she didn't want to disturb him. Glancing at her watch, she noticed that it was almost nine in the evening, and they'd had nothing to eat but tea and scones since their late breakfast. Cursing herself softly for neglecting her duties, she hurried quietly downstairs to fetch some food. Luckily, Nibbit had left out bowls of chicken soup, under a statis charm of some sort, and thick crust bread he must have baked during the day. Balancing all that on a tray along with a bottle of inexpensive red wine and two glasses, she made her way carefully back up the stairs.

When she walked back into the room, Snape was awake, saving her the awkwardness of having to wake him up.

"It's Sunday," he said, as though it would have some significance to her.

"It is," she said slowly, not following.

"You have to change the bandages once a week. On Sundays."

Oh, shit. He was right.

"You're a better nurse than I am," she said. "I can't believe I forgot, I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "At least you're not hovering over me like all the others have. Somehow hovering and avoiding me at the same time. It was the most infuriating thing."

She smiled. "I'm not much of a hoverer."

There she stood, awkwardly holding the large tray of food, smiling at him from the doorway as he lay in his dirty pyjamas, scowling (though she thought it more out of habit than actual annoyance), and a thick, yellowed bandage covering most of his neck and shoulder.

She cleared her throat, breaking the eye contact that was rapidly becoming deeper, something she didn't care to explore. "Would you rather eat or have the bandage off first?"

"The bandage," he said definitively, grimacing. "It's vile. I wish it could be changed every day, but the Healers said no more than once a week."

She nodded, setting the tray of food on the now pristine dresser, before rummaging through a drawer of potions and medical supplies until she found what she thought was needed.

"You have to rinse it in the dark blue potion first," he murmured.

She walked over, tossing the medical supplies on the bed beside him and pulling her chair up so close her knees were pressed into the side. She reached for the bandage, but he stopped her.

"My shirt."

Flushing, she pushed the covers down to his hips and grasped the edge of his shirt. _Quick and professional,_ she thought. _Just don't get flustered, and you'll be fine._

But it was easier said than done, when her hands kept brushing his surprisingly warm skin, her sensitive wrist rubbing against the line of dark hair that disappeared beneath his pyjama pants. The shirt wasn't baggy in the least, and it took slight effort on her part to push it up to his armpits. He obediently raised his good arm over his head and sat forward, bringing his face dangerously close to her own. She swallowed, and tugged the shirt over his arm and head, and he bent his body to assist. After what felt like a year spent close to the sun, he was freed, his dark hair even more mussed and something slightly more heated in his gaze than before. She awkwardly tugged the shirt over his bandage and down his arm, setting it beside him on the bed. He leaned forward imperceptibly, glancing down at her lips, before back up into her eyes.

She pulled back, clearing her throat. He sat back as well, watching her, gaze still unfathomable.

_God, Hermione. Get it together._


	5. Chapter 5

She cleared her throat. "So, the dark blue first?"

He nodded. If he would just _say_ something, she'd be less thrown off. But he was silent, just watching, and she felt more off-kilter than ever, as though she were on a carousel that was falling fast.

She grabbed the blue bottle, and began to peel the bandages back, trying in vain not to brush his skin.

"You'll have to touch me, girl," he growled, and she flushed further.

"Sorry."

Taking a deep breath, not noticing his gaze flicker down to her low-cut jumper, the contents of which were no more than a few inches from his face, for more than a few seconds, she resumed her removal of the bandages.

Each one revealed a progressively disturbing combination of older, mottled grey-white scars, newer pink ones, thin layers of translucent skin stretching over the dark red of his inner flesh, and occasionally a thick red or yellow scab.

"I'm so sorry," she had whispered before she realised it, and she glanced back to him.

"I don't need your pity," he whispered, but his voice was devoid of any anger, and he looked slightly surprised at himself.

"It's not, I just… it's awful that this happened. But at least you're alive."

"Not everyone would agree with you," he responded, and she didn't even notice that her hand had been running along the ropy scar outline of his massive wounds, or that his right hand had come up and wrapped around her hip, sliding under her jumper to grasp her bare skin.

"I—" she began, but whatever she'd been about to say was lost as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her closer, catching her lower lip between his teeth, tugging her with his good arm onto the bed. She kissed him back with much more temerity than she'd have expected of herself, and, holding onto his good shoulder with one hand to steady herself, twisted her other into the thick hair at the nape of her neck. He groaned into her mouth, a low, purely masculine sound that sent a throb straight down her spine to her lower belly, where something deliciously fiery had begun to pool. She wound up lying indecently on top of him, one leg between his, pressing against a rather large something that, luckily for her, had apparently survived the Final Battle still going strong. And the whole time, they were kissing, or something fiercer than kissing, a fight to be closer to one another. She wanted to sink into his skin, and had abandoned his hair to pull frantically at the buttons of her jumper, dying to be skin-to-skin with him, to feel his warm hard planes against the flushed softness of her breasts. But her arm jerked in her haste, and her wrist slammed into the centre of his wound.

He slammed his head back, letting out a sharp sound that was almost a scream, and she scrambled off of him, kneeling on the bed beside him and watching him grimace, head thrown back and back arching off the bed in pain.

"I'm so sorry, oh, gods, Severus—" she said hastily, jumping up and running to the dresser to find a pain potion, anything, to alleviate the hurt she'd caused him.

"No, it's fine," he groaned. "I don't need anything for it."

She turned back, beet red, feeling like a clumsy child who'd broken all the china in the china store.

"I'm so sorry," she said again, hands clenched together. After a moment, he sat up again, slowly, hand of his right arm rubbing at his face.

"That's my fault, I'm supposed to be taking care of you, and I just… let myself… forget. I won't do that again," she said quickly, stumbling slightly over her words.

"I'll just… re-bandage it, then, and then I'll just let you go to sleep."

He nodded, eyes still squeezed tightly shut and teeth clenched, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.


	6. Chapter 6

She wiped at the scabs carefully. She'd rinsed with the dark blue, a step that blessedly did not involve touching him, but now she was leaning across him as she carefully used the cloth on his skin, collecting the remnants of a bright green powder she'd had to rub onto the fresher scabs. The task itself was the furthest thing from arousing, but the way his chest brushed hers every time he took a breath, the warmth she could feel radiating from his skin, and the heat of his breath as it hit her neck kept her mind firmly focused on how it had felt to be on top of him, how his thigh had fit between her own. His eyes were half-open and focused on the ceiling, but she felt how her mouth was rubbed red from his stubble. Gods, she couldn't believe she'd done that. She couldn't believe _he'd_ done that.

Hands shaking slightly, she brushed off the last of the powder, and quickly covered it with a new bandage, using a sticking spell to adhere it to his good skin, thanking every deity she could think of that she didn't have to touch him until next Sunday. She wasn't sure she'd be able to without leaping back on top of him and resuming what he'd started… and there was something frighteningly disconcerting about the idea.

She stood, heart pounding, and took a large step back. He was tensed, and she knew it was from the pain still shooting through his spine.

"I'll just, um. Leave this food here. And you can eat whenever you're hungry."

He met her gaze, black eyes unreadable, face blank. He nodded.

"Goodnight, then," she murmured, keeping eye contact for another hot moment, before turning quickly and gathering her half of the dinner.

She was halfway out the door in a heartbeat, and almost missed it when he whispered, in that dark tone of his "goodnight."


	7. Chapter 7

The next day dawned cold, stormy, and grim, the first day of truly abysmal weather since she'd arrived. Usually, she would find time during the day to get out of the house, go to the market or visit one of her friends, or sit out in the garden with a blanket and a book, but today's bitter winds kept her firmly indoors.

So, captive, she pattered about the house for the brunt of the morning, tidying up knick-knacks and snooping through shelves and drawers. She'd already found a stack of old but interesting articles, a well-loved volume of Sylvia Plath's poetry, and innumerable newspaper clipping, ranging from the predictable ("He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Rises Again!") to the puzzling ("How Every Witch Should Dress to Entice a Wealthy Wizard"). She'd assembled a breakfast tray and was just reaching the top of the stairs, when a loud crash echoed through the house. Nibbit popped his head through the kitchen entrance, glared at her, and disappeared back through the doorway. She set the tray down on the landing, and bounded up the stairs to Severus' room.

When she got there, the bed was empty. One bony, pale foot stuck out from the other side of the bed, complete with wiry black hair sprinkled over the top.

"Severus?" she said loudly, hurrying over to him.

When he finally came into view, he was sprawled on his stomach, trying to push himself up with one arm, holding the one with the injured shoulder tight to his chest. He hadn't put on a shirt since the night before, and his pale muscles were interrupted by the sharp protrusions of his spine and shoulder blades. Scars wound across his back, some flat and white, others rippled and a strange shade of pinkish-yellow.

"Are you alright?" she said softly, crouching beside him, wrapping his good arm around her shoulders and helping him to his knees.

"I'm fine." He said shortly, jerking his arm back, and using it to push against the nightstand to help him all the way to his feet, before sitting back down on the bed.

"You got out of bed," she said with a smile. "Congratulations. But I don't know if you're quite ready; you shouldn't overdo it."

"I'm damn well ready," he snapped at her.

She held up her hands. "Fine, fine."

Eyes still narrowed, he watched her predatorily, perched on the edge of his bed like a hawk.

"Do you want to try spending the day downstairs, then?" she asked, resisting the urge to reach out and brush his hair back from his stormy face, to touch him despite his obvious irritation with her. Or maybe he was just angry with himself, for still being too weak to stand on his own.

"After a shower, that would be ideal," he said, voice softer.

The burning image of him in the shower darted unbidden into her mind, and she bit her lip to keep from letting it get the best of her. But her cheeks still flushed, and she knew with the same certainty that verified her brilliancy that he knew what she was thinking, and that he noticed the pink creep across her cheekbones, because one of his hands came up and brushed softly against the bottom edge of her sweater, touching the sliver of skin between it and the waistband of her jeans.

She took a large step back, letting the shiver run through her, and broke the hot, dark gaze that he was directing at her. She couldn't wrap her head around this right now. She just wanted to run.

"I'll just cast a water-repelling spell on your neck," she said softly, haltingly. He nodded shortly, his hand resting safely on the bed once again. She pulled her wand from her sleeve and cast the spell, feeling her magic flowing down her arm and imagining it laying itself over his wound.

"And maybe a bath, instead of a shower?" she said, unable to keep from torturing herself. "I don't think you should stand for that long."

He nodded again.

"I'll just draw it, then?" she said, walking quickly to the door, and across the hall into the bathroom. With shaking hands, thanking the gods that she'd escaped the room without stripping off her clothing and shoving him back onto that bed he desperately wanted out of, she turned on the faucet, closed the drain, and added the vanilla and mint bubble bath sitting next to the tub, watching the steaming water collect in the bottom.

When the tub was full, she turned the water off, and turned to find Severus leaning against the counter, waiting.

"Oh, well. I'll just, um... call when you're ready to come downstairs, I'll help you."

He nodded. _Gods, if he would just speak._

She left the bathroom, grabbing the tray from the landing and bringing it into the kitchen, where she set about preparing a fresh pot of coffee. Her mind was fuzzy, at best. When it was done, she leaned forward against the counter, reading the newspaper that lay there, trying not to think about his skin, his shoulders, his dark eyes and his quick mind.


	8. Chapter 8

Lost in her thoughts as she read, she startled badly when half an hour later two large, damp, warm hands pushed up under her sweater, running along her stomach and up toward her breasts. When she jumped, he stilled for a moment, but she curled one hand over his, and he continued his perusal of her breasts. She couldn't bear to face him, though, her face bright red from the knowledge that he was behind her, shirtless and as demanding as he'd ever been in school, his hands pushing insistently at the sweater that clung to her suddenly overheated skin. She raised her arms, and he awkwardly pushed it up with his good arm, and she managed to get her wits about her enough to help him.

He groaned slightly when she tossed it to the ground, quickly opening the clasp of her bra and pushing it off her shoulders, palming her breasts in his hands and tugging her back against him. She reached up and behind her, running her hands through his wet hair and along the hard planes of his neck. His mouth found the crook of her neck, and her eyes shut, head falling back against the wet, unyielding flesh of, thankfully, his good shoulder.

"God, Hermione," he whispered harshly, biting her shoulder, sucking to ease the sting. When he said her name, a warning bell went off somewhere in the back of her mind, but she ignored it and turned to face him, winding her arms under his so she could dig her fingers into his sides.

He dipped his head down, meeting her mouth with his, biting at her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. She pulled him closer, licking at the insides of his lips he let her tongue delve inside. He smelled like vanilla, and mint, and something dark and secret that made her cunt throb. She was dying to be skin-to-skin with him, to feel his body over her own, to be so wrapped up in his convincing warmth that she would forget all the reasons they shouldn't be doing this.

He broke the kiss, taking a deep breath, before releasing her.

"I need to sit down," he said with a wince, and she nodded, shirtless and breathless in front of him.

He turned, and she noticed then that he was only wearing a ratty white towel around his waist, the front of it decidedly not laying flat. Her cheeks flushed further.

He turned one of the sturdy wooden chairs from the kitchen table to face her, and sat down, his body drooping slightly with exhaustion.

"Are you alright? Do you need to go back to bed?" she said softly, stepping toward him. He met her look.

"There is exactly one thing I need right now," he murmured, in a deep and hushed voice that made her shiver, eyes dark and probing.

She stepped closer, almost involuntarily, hands dropping to the waistband of her jeans, pulling at the fastenings with clumsy fingers.

He pulled at the towel around his waist, and it fell aside, revealing a large, stiffened cock surrounded by more of that coarse black hair, a sight that made the flush covering her face and neck extend down her chest. She reached for him without meaning to, abandoning her removal of her jeans so she could run her fingers over his lower stomach. His breath caught, and he raised his hands to her jeans to continue what she'd started. When he pushed them down her hips, she kicked them off, toeing off her socks at the same time.

"Oh, I didn't… I haven't shaved my legs or anything since a few days ago," she stammered, suddenly self-conscious as she stood in front of him. He shook his head quickly, reaching for her, his gaze raking over her body.

"God, Hermione, it doesn't matter. Just come here. Let me feel you."

She stepped forward and straddled him, letting her weight settle on his thighs, and he leaned forward to catch her mouth with his. Winding her hands around the back of his neck, her kiss was hot and open-mouthed. He slid his hands along her back, curling his fingers into her skin, and that moment, curled over him in chilly kitchen, the scratchy hair on his legs pressed against her thighs, his hot skin pressed against her flushed chest, was the most perfect thing she'd ever had.

He shifted under her, and his cock pressed against her lower stomach insistently. She smiled into his lips, and ran a hand down his chest until she grasped him in her hand, rising up on her knees and aligning herself over him.

He pulled his head back, to bite at her shoulder, and she sank down onto him, moaning softly with the size of him, amazed that she'd needed no foreplay, just _him, _inside her and around her, and she was almost undone. Moving her hand to his ribcage, the other braced on his good shoulder for support, she stayed there for a moment, adjusting to the glorious feel of being over Severus Snape, of having caused his eyes to shut and his breathing to quicken, a low groan escaping from his mouth where it was pressed to her neck. His head dropped back against the back of the chair, his neck prone, and she bit his Adam's apple gently, rubbed her cheek against the bristly stubble on his neck, and began to slowly ride him. His hands were clenched into her hips, hard, guiding her into a rhythm.

Without warning, he bent his legs more, bringing his knees up so that she was pressed even more intimately against him, sitting in his lap. She gasped, and, still holding her hips, he quickened the pace and the force behind each of her thrusts. She braced her feet against the floor, and her hands on the back of the chair.

"Oh, gods, Severus," she cried, louder than she'd intended to, and let her head fall forward until her forehead rested on his good shoulder. He bit the crook of her neck and growled, his hammering thrusts bouncing her body, the base of his penis sliding along her clit with each thrust, the angle angelic. She came apart, arms around him, a distant part of her brain being careful not to touch the left side of his neck. He shouted his release a moment later, slamming four more jerky thrusts up into her, followed by a few sporadic, reflexive nudges as she collapsed across his chest. They lay there, sweaty and sprawled in the chair, trying to catch their breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm not usually so fast," he said softly, and she could hear a defensive edge behind his words. She pulled her head back and pressed her lips to his, tightening her thighs around his hips. He squeezed her sides.

"It was perfect," she whispered, with him still inside her, wishing they could stay like that forever.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a few minutes later when the thick, comfortable hush that had fallen over them in the room disintegrated, and the contact between their bodies became suddenly much less comfortable.

"It's started," she murmured to herself, running a lazy hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, memorizing the feel since she knew the opportunity might never come again.

"What has?" he said, voice gravelly, the hands on her hips loosening.

"The awkwardness, from doubting each other, and from real life pushing in," she murmured, pressing her forehead harder against his collarbone, as though that could keep them from flying apart.

"Doubting?" he said, and she took a deep breath.

"Yes. We shouldn't have done this, Severus," she whispered, finally pulling back and meeting his eyes. The hurt she saw there almost floored her, and she stood, mourning the loss of his body against hers.

He just sat there, leaning back against the chair, naked and sweaty, gloriously so, looking at her with narrowed eyes and a stiffness in her shoulders that she hadn't seen since before they'd kissed the first time.

"Don't look at me like that, Severus," she said softly.

"Like what, _Hermione_? Like we didn't just sleep together? Like you don't regret it?"

"I don't regret it! I just… It was a bad idea. I don't know anything about you! I never asked for this," she said softly, cringing as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Well it certainly seemed like you were asking for it when you were on top of me fifteen minutes ago. Or have you forgotten already? Don't you dare lay the blame on me, you little girl," he hissed, grabbing his towel off the floor and standing slowly, though not attempting to cover himself with it. She realised then the ludicrousness, and heaviness, of the situation, standing in a dirty kitchen having a post-coital naked argument with her former professor, with the man she would have to live with for some time more.

She opened her mouth to say something, to make him stop glaring at her, his face furious, but suddenly he grimaced and sank back down onto the chair.

"I need to lie down," he whispered through his teeth. Alarmed, she helped him back up, pulling his shoulder over hers, and helping him to the couch.

"Are you okay?" she asked, as he lay down and closed his eyes, wincing.

"No. I need to sleep," he snapped.

She bit her lip, silent, covered him with a blanket, and ran to her room.


	10. Chapter 10

Lord, lord, lord, I am so sorry; writing lately has been like pulling teeth, if those teeth were cemented into a brick wall and all you had to use was a pair of tweezers. But here is a long chapter, and I will write the rest of this very very soon... hopefully. And the rest of my stories.

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Hermione was laying on the couch in the sitting room, Severus slumped in an armchair, both reading. They'd barely spoken since that afternoon a week ago, instead living in a heavy but not entirely uncomfortable silence. She'd had to change his bandage again, but they were so cool and detached that she'd barely felt anything at all. Bizarre.

There was a loud crack outside, causing Hermione to jump and Severus to sit up straight. She glanced at him, set her book down on the sofa, and stood to answer the knock that had just sounded.

It was Draco, standing on the stoop looking taller and broader in the shoulders than he had before. His harsh beauty and white-blonde hair was stunning, and she forgot to say anything, instead standing there with her mouth slightly open.

Smirking, he pushed past her.

"Godfather, you're looking much better," Draco said to Severus, who was pulling himself to his feet and straightening his ratty bathrobe.

"Draco. How was your trip?" Severus asked, shaking Draco's hand.

"Good, good. Everything seems to be running smoothly with Luna. It was nice be able to visit her for a few weeks," Draco replied, before shooting a glance over his shoulder at Hermione.

"I'll just… go read in my room. Good to see you, Draco," she said quickly, meeting Severus' eyes instead of Malfoy's. His face was blank, his gaze steady. She blushed slightly, snatched her book off the coffee table, and fairly bolted to her room.

Flinging herself down onto the bed, Hermione felt her face turn entirely beet-coloured. Severus had surely caught her ogling Malfoy in the doorway, and she didn't want him to think she was a tramp, ready to throw herself on any man that crossed her path.

Sighing, and pushing the awful thoughts that were crowding in from her mind, she picked up her book from where she'd tossed it. Except that it wasn't her book—it was Severus', the one he'd been reading when they'd been sitting together. But all the ones that were piled on her dresser she'd read already, and she couldn't even think of venturing back out there to get hers.

So she laid back down, and opened it. It was a thick book on the uncommon uses of common potions ingredients, a thoroughly Snape choice of reading material. That wasn't the interesting part. The interesting part was the folded piece of thin parchment that fell out when she opened it. Feeling very guilty for snooping, but not guilty enough to stop, she unfolded the worn piece of paper.

**:::**

_Need: paint, curtains, bedclothes—likes purple  
__Likes ice cream, strawberries, popcorn, sangria  
__Tell Nibbit: Doesn't like veal, tarragon, red wine  
__Have Charlotte/ Nettie(?)/ Nibbit clean living room—put everything in cellar (lab)  
__Order recent Charms/Arithmancy journals; do not spill on new Potions journals_

(There was a change in ink colour)

_Return knickers  
__Apologize  
__Courting book: doesn't feel "cherished," "emotionally desired"  
__ bollocks  
__Flowers?—Owl Draco, ask to visit, have questions._

**:::**

When Hermione had finished reading it three times through, her cheeks were wet and she was biting her lip hard. Sweet Merlin, he was this serious? He'd been planning this?

Someone knocked on her door.

She cleared her throat. "Come in!" she called, voice wavering.

Draco opened the door quickly and efficiently, and shut it in the same manner. He walked over and sat next to her on the bed, plucking the piece of paper from her fingers.

"Well, that was stupid of him," Draco murmured disparagingly, with a dramatic sigh.

Hermione laid her head down on her arms. This was too much.

"He planned all of this?" she croaked, not lifting her head.

There was a silence. She cracked open one eye. "He loves you," Draco said, as though that explained everything.

"How could he love me? I don't know him!" she almost-shrieked.

"Shh. And I don't know. He just does. He read about you in the paper as he was getting better, and remembered how you were during the war. He asks me about you, and I ask Luna, that's how he knows all these—" he fluttered the paper in her face "—things about you. I spent a whole Saturday with Luna, painting the walls and picking out bedsheets. And I was the one who suggested Harry ask you to move in here—I knew you couldn't say no."

"I just don't understand _why_, Draco. It doesn't make sense."

"It does, though. It makes too much sense. Wouldn't you expect so, with him? Everything he's done, everything he's felt, has been carefully planned out and arranged for. It is all _so logical_. You're brilliant, he's brilliant, you're young and beautiful and heroic. He wanted you for selfish, ignoble reasons. Until you came here and cared for him. Until he kissed you that first time."

Hermione squeaked in protest, and flushed furiously. Draco held up a hand.

"No, no, he didn't tell me anything. But I guessed most of it, the two of you are transparent as all hell. He kissed you, there was sexual tension, then the two of you brainiacs did the dirty without having the slightest conversation first about what it would mean."

She blushed harder.

"What you have to do, Hermione, is either love him or leave him. You cannot stay here, tending to a not-so-sick-anymore man who wants you, likely more than he's ever wanted anything else."

"You want me to _leave_?" she exclaimed, sitting up suddenly.

Draco leveled his gaze at her. Very quietly, very seriously, he replied, "If you would jump to that conclusion faster than the other—I think you have your answer."

He stood and walked to the door, but paused. "Please pack your things today, and leave by tonight. I can put you up in a flat until you find somewhere else to stay, if you wish. I will take care of finding him another nurse."

Hermione sat there, mouth open.

He turned slightly toward her. "And if you have any decency at all—leave him his dignity. Do not bring up to him what you have learned; you are perfectly aware he's heard this entire conversation."

She nodded, and he left.


	11. Chapter 11

Ah, it's done! I think this says what I want it to. I hope you enjoy! I will proofread later tonight. Please review, I absolutely love them.

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So Hermione left. She wasn't ready to feel so much, so fast, and it overwhelmed her. She was scared.

She moved out quietly that evening, and saw neither hide nor hair of Severus as she did so. She'd wanted to say goodbye… but that didn't seem to be desired by the other human occupant of the house. So she hugged Nibbit a little too long instead, and shut the door softly behind her.

Now, three weeks later, living in the pretty London flat Draco had found her (but which she paid for herself) on the outskirts of the city, Hermione felt awful. Miserable and with a chill that had been sunk into her bones since she'd left, she was curled up on her armchair sipping tea and staring out the large window to the bustle of people below. She'd painted the whole room yellow, since when she'd moved in it'd been a pale lavender that made her throat clench, but the hue was a little too sickly and made the whole flat look queasy.

She sighed.

Later that night, she'd donned one of her looser dresses, since she'd gained a bit of weight since leaving, a pair of teetering high heels with a sneaky stability charm cast on the both of them, and Apparated to Clearwater Alley, right near Diagon Alley, where there were a few dark and smoky nightclubs that she could lose herself in. She usually just danced with the men she'd meet, ever since the time she found one who was appropriately tall, with long dark hair and black eyes. She'd brought him back to her flat, and they were snogging on her bed when she'd accidentally scratched her nails down the left side of his neck. He hadn't even paused, which just made the sinking horror that much worse, and she's begun to bawl and had thrown him out instantly, before curling up on her bed and letting sleep overtake her alcohol-muddled mind.

But tonight, at the bar of The Dragon's Whip, the rain pounding down outside, Hermione ordered a martini and waited for someone to come chat her up. However, that someone was not at all who she'd expected.

"Hermione," Draco's voice murmured as he slid gracefully onto the bar stool beside her. She was so startled that she didn't even notice the bartender giving her her drink. Malfoy just smirked and handed him some coins.

"Oh! I'm sorry, here," she stammered, pulling out her coin purse, but Draco's lazy wave of his hand stopped her.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he said, peering down at her. "I thought you preferred The Mermaid's Moon up the street. At least, that's where I've seen you almost every night for the past two weeks."

Hermione blushed. "I thought a change of scenery would be nice."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but a buxom, exotic-looking girl sidled up to him, and flashed him a brilliant smile, her dark eyes narrowing at Hermione. "Well hello there, handsome. You could do so much better than this one here, you know," she murmured in Draco's ear with a sharp edge to her voice. "Why don't you come dance, and I'll show you what a real woman can do."

He lifted his left hand lazily, flashing his silver and diamond wedding ring at the girl, eyes not leaving Hermione's. "I'm married, you imbecile."

The girl's cheeks darkened a hue or two, and she fairly bared her teeth at Hermione before slinking off to hit on someone else.

Hermione smiled slightly, but Draco's face didn't change. "How are you?" he asked, voice steely.

"I'm fine!" she chirped, far too brightly, and winced. For all the things she was good at, acting was definitely not one of them.

His face softened. "Why?"

She sighed. "I feel like someone shoved a stake through my stomach. And sometimes my throat clenches up and I want to sob, even if I'm in the middle of the grocery store. I wish I had never gone to live there."

Draco said nothing.

"It's as though I was torn in two when I left, and the idea of going back into something so intense is terrifying. I'm stuck in limbo." Hermione sipped her drink, hand shaking. "I'm trapped."

"What's the worst that could happen if you went to him?"

"I—I don't know," she said quietly, trying to quell the tears rising in her throat.

"You do know. If you went to him, your heart would finish breaking. You can't stop what you've already started. It would shatter and he would barely be of any help as you put yourself back together. But then, when you were finally mended, and while you're healing yourself, he would be _with_ you. He would hold your hand and sleep beside you," Draco said, very matter-of-factly.

Hermione was crying for real now.

"You two will fight, brutally, and he will hurt your feelings a thousand times over. He will curse you, and you'll hate the things he does sometimes. But you won't ever hate him."

"I can't go back there! This is far too violent. I feel as though an angry hurricane is ripping through my chest, tearing at me, demanding things that I can't understand. It _hurts_, Draco. It hurts terribly."

He laid his large hand on her shoulder. "Hermione…"

She reached for a bar napkin and blew her nose loudly. "Yes?"

"What did you think love would feel like?"

She gaped. "I—I don't know. Not like this."

"This is the rawest kind of love there is. It's brutal. But it's also glorious, you just can't see that right now. This kind of pain is so exquisite, and so rare, and I think you are a foolish, foolish woman for trying to leave it behind. You are part of each other now—and I know you don't think it makes sense, and countless people would agree with you, but that's because they haven't felt it. With Luna, I cannot imagine ever being without her. She's a part of me, and every day she grows into my soul a little bit more. It's too late. You can't leave him any more than you can excise a portion of yourself. He belongs to you already—and you would to him, if only you would let him have you."

She wiped her nose again. "Do you…" she cleared her throat. "Do you think he'd still have me?"

Draco sighed. "He's broken, Hermione. He will take any part of you he can get. But please don't go back unless you can give him all of yourself. It's what he deserves, more than anyone else I know. If you're not sure, then stay in your flat. You cannot undo this kind of choice."

She smiled through her tears, for the first time in those long days, and shook her head. "No, I'm sure. I can't stand this anymore. I'm scared but… I think I trust him."

Draco smiled too, slightly. "Good. Go."

She hugged him tightly, and glanced up to see the beautiful girl from before glaring at her from across the room. She stuck out her tongue.

"Thank you, Draco."

And she ran.


	12. Chapter 12

She was already soaked to the bone when she Apparated to Severus' front step, and took the stairs two at a time, hesitating briefly before pounding on the door with her fist. It was already 2am, but she didn't think Severus would mind.

However, the person that opened the door a few anticlimactic minutes later was not Severus—instead, it was a skinny blonde girl wearing a pink pajama set and thick glasses. "Can I help you?"

"I'm… erm, here to see Severus."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "He's sleeping and shouldn't be bothered. He's quite—"

But Hermione had had enough of waiting, and she pushed past the girl, dripping all over the floor as she ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

She opened the door, kicking off her heels. She'd have thought all the commotion would have woken him, but there he lay, sleeping, and Hermione finally did what she'd wanted to weeks ago. She crawled into bed with him, and wrapped her soaked body against his. He jerked awake, and fairly shook her off as he sat up quickly, but when he saw her his jaw clenched and he lay back down, facing her.

"I am so sorry," she said quickly, crying again, repeating it like a mantra. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sor—"

Severus kissed her. His mouth was hot against hers, her tears hot against the chill of her cheeks. She pushed closer. His hands roamed, pushing her clinging, wet shift up and running his hands up her goose-bumped sides. She pulled her mouth away and pressed her face into his warm, dry neck, shaking too hard to kiss properly and too exhausted to do anything but curl up inside his arms.

"I love you," he said, voice rough with sleep. "You should know that."

Hermione nodded, tears slowing, sobs ceasing. "Gods, I know. I love you. I didn't know it, but I do. I don't know how I didn't know. I love you so much my heart hurts, it's bursting from the pressure."

He hugged her tighter. "I know."

She shivered hard, and disentangled from his arms to sit up. "I have to take this off, I'm so cold," she said, teeth chattering slightly. He sat up too. She pulled the dress over her head, with difficulty, and undid her bra before laying back down on her elbows to lift her hips and wriggle out of her knickers, before sitting up again.

Severus just sat there and looked at her, until she'd tossed her earrings to the ground, and pulled the pins out of her hair. The silence was slightly awkward but mostly perfect.

"I love you," Hermione said softly, reaching for him.

He laid her back down, running a hand down her chilled arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He braced himself on his elbows above her, just looking, face blank but eyes burning.

"I love you," she said again, perhaps telling herself more than him.

And then he kissed her again.

**:::**

_The End._


End file.
